


All Shades of Blue

by MachaSWicket



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:32:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  MOVIE SPOILERS. <i> been thinking you probably should stay.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	All Shades of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: to VictoriaSinclair for the very necessary beta work.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: These characters all belong to Rob Thomas.

>   
>  _just your smile lit a sixty-watt bulb in my house_   
>  _that was darkened for days_   
>  _been thinking you probably should stay_   
> 

Four days after Gia’s death, five days after Deputy Sacks’ death, the constant vicegrip of fear began to ease. Her dad was out of the proverbial woods and improving (albeit slowly), the right people were behind bars, Logan was there, and Veronica finally felt like maybe things could get back to normal someday.

Maybe.

Because she spent long hours at the hospital with her dad, trying to entertain him, to distract him from the pain. The worry and the stress and the positivity she projected for her father were exhausting. And then she spent hours with Logan, relearning everything about him, remembering the way her body craved him. He was an absolute rock, which was unexpected but exactly what she needed. 

And when Logan made her laugh, made the tension ease just for a moment, she felt guilty, because her dad was in pain. Then each time she grew quiet and pensive, and caught Logan’s concerned gaze on her, she felt guilty, because she wanted to be there, be fully present with Logan, but it was just -- _a lot_.

The ups and downs, the wild swings in her mood -- it was too much, and the morning of the fourth day, Logan made her come with just his hands, and then found her collapsed into a sobbing heap in the shower ten minutes later.

“I’m fine,” she said when she heard his footsteps. Or thought she said, though it came out so garbled she wasn’t sure he understood.

She knew he hadn’t once he climbed into the shower, half-dressed, eyes wide and panicked. “Veronica,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, awkwardly crouching beside her. He barely fit, his tall, lean frame bent in impossible ways just to get close to her.

Veronica kept crying. Couldn’t stop crying. She _hated_ it, because she wasn’t that girl, wasn’t the one who cried over every little thing. Though these weren’t _little_ things. So much stress and anguish and a lot of things were terrible, but so much of it was wonderful. Her dad was alive, but Deputy Sacks was dead. And Gia died right in front of her, and -- just too much.

Logan lifted her out of the shower, moving carefully, and wrapped her in a towel. He was making comforting noises, his touch gentle as he eased a pale blue towel along her skin to dry her off. Her hair was soaked, dripping, but he didn’t bother with it, simply lifting her again and carrying her back to bed. The water was still running, and Logan’s boxers and t-shirt were translucent with water, but he ignored everything other than her.

“No,” she protested, petulant even to her own ears. “I need to go to the hospital.”

“You’re exhausted,” Logan murmured, letting the edge of his mouth tilt upwards. “You can’t go cry all over your dad -- who would that help?”

Her watery laugh sounded more like a sob, and she really was exhausted. “My hair -- I’ll get the sheets wet.”

“Oh, no, then what will we do?” Logan teased gently. He eased her hair back, up over the top of the pillow. “I’ll wash the sheets later.”

He was already pulling the blankets up, tucking them around her. She felt wrung out, completely bereft of energy. “Like you know how to do laundry,” she said, reaching for humor or wit, but falling well short.

Logan curled around her body, his arm anchoring her to the bed. “I have many hidden talents,” he murmured.

She wanted to answer, to quip, to deflect, but she could barely keep her eyes open. “Maybe a nap,” she conceded. “An hour.”

“Good, a nap will help,” Logan agreed, and she knew him well enough to recognize that tone. He was humoring her, taking care of her, and it should infuriate her, but maybe she could wait to be mad about it until she woke back up.

Which she did three hours later, feeling slightly more human. Though her father’s house was silent, which concerned her. Half of her pillow was soaked, and the blanket was damp where he’d lain, but Logan was gone. 

Veronica sat up, naked in the pullout bed in the spare room she’d been sharing with him for the last few nights. That thought was more disorienting every day, but in a way that sent heat pooling in her belly. It wasn’t adrenaline or recapturing her misspent youth or any other circumstantial write-off -- he was _there_ with her, in this with her, whatever _this_ was. 

He’d left a note, propped up on his pillow.

_Veronica--_  
 _I’m at the hospital with your dad. Call when you wake up. My car’s out front, keys on top of your bag in the living room._  
 _-L_

She grabbed her phone, texted Logan: _How’s my dad?_

Moments later, he replied: _Really bad at gin rummy._

She got moving, grabbing clean clothes and heading for the bathroom. Shower and get ready for the day, take two. Before she turned the water on, she asked: _Wait, how did you get to the hospital?_

It took a bit longer for him to answer this time. _Took a taxi. Didn’t want you to have to wait for me or a cab._

Veronica smiled at the phone, feeling all of these _feelings_ for this man she knew so well a decade ago, who could still turn her hot and gooey as a S’mores with a simple look. And whose underlying decency was something he seemed to have embraced in the interim, _without_ losing his quick wit.

Devastating combination.

 _I’ll be there ASAP_ , she texted, and then stepped into the shower.

& & &

She (barely) resisted the urge to sidle up to her father’s hospital room door, just to see what Logan and her dad could possibly be talking about. But she decided she’d rather not know, at least not right now.

No unnecessary additional stress.

So without breaking stride, Veronica tapped the door frame with her knuckles and walked in. She moved to her dad’s bed -- he looked about the same, bandages, wires, tubes, monitors. Pale and a little grey around the edges. “Morning, Dad,” she said, and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. 

“It’s almost noon,” her dad answered, with the hint of a smile. He was definitely more aware than the last couple days. 

Logan had dragged the visitor’s chair closer to the bed, but stood when she arrived. “She needed a little rest,” Logan offered hesitantly. “She’s not,” he winced, almost imperceptibly, but continued, “sleeping well.” She wondered if her dad had asked about sleeping arrangements during their card games. She hoped Logan hadn’t mentioned the nightmares. She half-turned to him, accepted his reassuring look.

Logan gestured at the chair. She paused, feeling two sets of eyes evaluating her -- her clothes, her mental state, her next move. With a half-shrug, she stepped closer to Logan, tangled her fingers in his, and kissed him chastely. “Thanks,” she said, and somewhere underneath the tension and stress, she was amused by the startled look in his eyes. “Your keys,” she added, and pressed them into his hand.

“Sure,” he said, stepping back, carefully not looking at her father for a reaction. 

But Veronica did, almost defiantly, not sure what to expect. Her dad just looked pensive. And tired. And in pain. And she didn’t really care about his approval or his blessing anymore, she just wanted him to feel better. 

Her dad frowned at her. “You can drive the Crown Vic.”

“I don’t--” Veronica swallowed. “I think the keys are -- were -- you had them, and I didn’t want to dig through…” She gestured at the plastic bag of his personal effects sitting on the windowsill. She’d tried, actually, but when she opened the bag two days earlier, the first thing she saw was blood on his wallet, and she’d dropped everything back on the windowsill, unable to reach inside. She shook the memory away. “How’s the pain today?”

She should’ve known better to expect the truth. “Not too bad,” he said, and she wondered about the calibration of his pain scale. Suddenly, she felt laughter bubbling up, at a half-remembered pain scale she’d seen online once. Something about giraffes, and _I see Jesus coming for me and I’m scared._ Only that wasn’t funny at all, because he could _so easily_ have died.

Her chest constricted, her breathing wrong, somehow, and then she heard Logan behind her, stepping closer, his hand easing down her back, like he was gentling a colt. “I’ll let you guys have some time.”

She wanted him to stay, wanted his calming presence around so she could function, but made herself nod. “Okay.”

“Mr. Mars.” Logan stepped to the bed, carefully shook Keith’s hand without dislodging the pulse-ox monitor. He turned, caught her gaze. “I’ll bring food back later,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

He left quietly, and Veronica dropped into the guest chair. How could she possibly still be tired? When she looked to her father, he was watching her. “What?” she asked, a little defensively. Because she wasn’t the one with the crushed pelvis. Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly.

“I’m gonna be fine, honey,” her dad said, and she knew he meant it. He was a stubborn old goat, and it wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, because he always kept his word to her. It was just -- a really close call. Every night, she woke up from hellscape versions of the accident where he’d died in her arms, or where Logan _and_ her father had been hit, their bodies broken and bloody on the pavement. Veronica steadfastly ignored a flare of unnecessary despair. 

When she looked up at her dad, she knew he’d figured most of this out already. He pinned her with a reproachful gaze. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m not the one in the hospital.” As deflections went, not her best work.

“Believe me, I’m getting at least 16 hours of sleep a day, though most of it is medically induced,” he answered. “What about you?”

Veronica cursed the telltale flush in her cheeks, dipped her chin and hoped her hair provided enough of a curtain from her father’s gaze. It wasn’t the time or place for this, for thinking about all the things she was doing in bed instead of sleeping. “I’m sleeping enough,” she answered. And it was sort of true. She wasn’t hallucinating or anything.

“Wallace is coming to visit tomorrow morning,” her father announced, sounding a little stronger.

She jerked her head up, gave her dad a confused look. “He is?”

“Yes. And I don’t want you here before evening visiting hours.”

“No way,” she protested, shaking her head, leaning toward him for emphasis. “I already missed a couple hours today, there’s no way--”

“Veronica, this is not a request.”

She felt panicky, which was stupid. There were very few things about New York and her buttoned down life she would miss, but at this point she would drop-kick a bunny rabbit for some semblance of that self-control she’d perfected. She didn’t know whether to blame the accident or her recent inability to sleep for its absence, but it was definitely gone. And her father would be in this bed for at least another week, whether she was in this chair staring at him (and trying not to cry), or not. “Dad--”

“You need a break from this place.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Just -- please, Veronica?”

How could she say no to him when he let all of his exhaustion and pain bleed into his voice? She clutched at his hand, squeezed it between both of hers. “Okay.” She nodded, more to convince herself than her dad. “Gin rummy?”

“Your boyfriend is a card sharp.” He only stumbled a little bit over the word boyfriend, but she was more concerned with the strange raspiness of his voice.

“He’s not--” Veronica stopped, because she didn’t know how to finish that sentence. She squirmed in her chair. “He’s helping.”

“I know.” Her father moved a little, and immediately groaned. The tempo of the monitors beside his bed changed, and Veronica didn’t know what that meant, exactly, except that it unnerved her.

“Dad?” She was on her feet, leaning over him, breathing too fast. “Do you need the doctor?”

His jaw was clenched, eyes closed. “No.” It was barely a word.

“Dad, you--”

“The nurse.”

“Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand before laying it carefully on the bed. “Two seconds,” she promised, half-sprinting out into the hallway, waving at the nurses’ station. “Excuse m--” The tall brunette -- maybe her name was Courtney? -- was already on her way down the hall. Veronica followed the nurse back inside.

“Hi, Keith, you’re having some pain?” she asked, moving efficiently to his side and glancing between his face and the monitors above his bed. 

“Just weakness lea--” he froze for a moment, trying to cope, then exhaled sharply “Weakness leaving the body, right?”

Veronica hovered close, trying to smile at his terrible joke but sniffling instead.

“All right, Keith,” Probably-Courtney answered, her tone soothing. “It’s time for your morphine anyway.” She had a syringe in her hand, calmly injecting its contents into his IV bag. “That should kick in pretty quick for you, okay?”

“K,” he managed, still breathing wrong, tentatively somehow. 

“Is it your ribs?” Veronica asked.

“More the pelvis.” He tried so hard to smirk at her. “Head’s okay, though.”

She was cupping his cheek gently, not sure when she even moved so close to the bed. “Hardheaded family, the Mars clan.”

She could pinpoint exactly when the drugs started to work, watched his eyes lose a little bit of their focus. He let out a long breath. “That’s us.”

“Yeah.” She took his hand again, reaching blindly behind her to tug the chair closer. The tension in his face softened, his fingers relaxed some in her grip. She was so glad he had some relief from the pain, but the morphine kept him pretty out of it. 

Probably-Courtney caught Veronica’s eye. “That should help him get some rest. The call button’s there if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” Veronica answered. She turned her attention back to her dad. “You should nap,” she whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

His eyelids drooped. ‘“K.”

Veronica curled her legs up beside her on the chair, and settled in to watch him sleep.

& & &

“Will you just trust me?” 

The question of the hour, or the week, or possibly her life.

They were standing in her father’s living room, just three hours into her dad-imposed exile from the hospital. She’d stayed past visiting hours, stubbornly hoping he would relent if she just never left, but the nurses did eventually kick her out. Logan had made dinner, kept her wine glass half-full at all times, and then taken her to bed.

And this morning, he’d been surprisingly tight-lipped about options to fill their free day, batting down all her suggestions that involved activities in the general vicinity of the hospital. And then about an hour ago, he’d stepped outside to make a couple phone calls, and then announced they were leaving at 11. But he refused to say where they were going.

She watched Logan closely, evaluating. He was more subtle, now, but still had no poker face at all. She could read his affection and hope and desire and, under it all, his fear, as easily as if it were ten years ago. 

He wanted desperately for her to just agree and follow him to the car, but she was never that person. She would try for him. “Yes, but--” 

Logan grinned and reached for her hand. “I heard _yes_ , and that’s all I need right now.” He had a plan, clearly, but she wasn’t sure whether to be charmed or alarmed.

She went willingly into his arms, craving the warm comfort of his touch. Inhaling his scent, she nuzzled her face into the softness of his shirt. “A hint?” she asked, because she’d agreed to stay away from the hospital until evening, but her plan to fill that time consisted mostly of waiting for her dad to call to say he’d changed his mind and was in desperate need of a game of Go Fish.

Logan squeezed her, then released her and stepped back. “Nope.” He softened this with a quick kiss. “Go grab your coat and sunglasses, and bring your phone.” He was wearing simple brown shoes, jeans, and a long-sleeved blue henley, nothing to offer a clue about where he was taking her. 

She could feel her curiosity, burning dully underneath layers of exhaustion, but blamed her lack of energy for the way she acquiesced and just followed Logan’s cryptic instructions. She felt better than the day before, overall, and found enough spark to grab the black leather jacket he liked so much, as kind of an unspoken thank you for the way he was taking care of her.

He was beside the door when she looked up, one hand on the doorknob, practically vibrating with impatience to get going. It was daylight, and he was drenched in sun, but she still saw him as he was a few nights ago, restrained and puzzled and careful to follow her lead right up until she launched herself at him. 

His expression shifted as he figured out why she’d paused, a slow grin appearing. “C’mere.”

She was smiling back at him, and how could she be so tired and upset and still react so positively to him? Leisurely, this time, she crossed to him, and their kiss was slower, softer. He hummed as he pulled back. “As much as I’d like to follow this particular script to its climax, we’re on a schedule.”

The classic Logan eyebrow waggle was what did it for her, and then she was laughing, allowing him to tug her out the door and to the car parked at the curb. The sunlight felt warm, soothing her skin, and she turned her face up to the sky as they drove.

Logan turned deliberately away from the hospital, which left a little pit of guilt in her stomach. Once they reached the highway, she realized he’d taken a roundabout route around town, specifically to avoid the hospital and any temptation she may have had to break her promise to her dad. And to Logan. 

To her surprise, he turned east -- she’d expected whatever this was to involve the shore, given his affinity for the ocean. Logan reached for her hand, gave her an inscrutable look, and she told herself to go with it. Let him have his mysteries.

Thirty-five minutes later, Logan exited the highway, winding his way through the smallish town as if he’d been there many times. There were small houses, some with large yards, and more than one farm. She grinned as they drove past a herd of alpacas milling about near the fence of their pen, their big, curious eyes following the car.

Veronica leaned towards Logan. “Did you get me a _pony_?”

Logan laughed and shook his head. “Better.”

Veronica wrinkled her nose at him. “Careful about overselling whatever your non-pony thing is.” Because nothing could top ponies, really

“I’ll take my chances,” he answered, as he slowed the car and turned left.

Veronica sat up straight, looking from the small sign to Logan, a strange mixture of nerves, excitement, and disbelief hitting her hard. “Wait.”

His smile was breathtaking. “We’re going flying.”

& & &

Veronica stood beside the small, twin-prop airplane that Logan had rented, shaking a little with -- what? Adrenaline? Fear? Disbelief? The plane glinted in the sunlight, mostly white with large, sparkling windows. She’d expected all planes to be bigger, somehow, in order to fly -- some half-formed idea about needing large wings to fly.

But this plane -- it was kind of alarmingly small. Or maybe it wasn’t the plane, but the idea of flying _with Logan_ that had thrown her so completely off. More proof of his evolution into this man that she knew, but didn’t know. Veronica felt suddenly awkward, not knowing quite what to do with her hands.

“Breathe,” Logan said, not even looking away from the wing of the plane as he walked its length, doing some sort of preflight check.

“I am,” she answered, but her voice was high and thready.

Logan turned back, standing directly in front of her, and waited until she looked up at him. “Are you afraid of flying?” She could tell he was concerned, worried that he’d chosen the wrong place to bring her. 

“No,” she answered, and touching his bicep to reassure him. She enjoyed flying, floating so high above all the day-to-day shittiness. The world actually looked peaceful from 20,000 feet away. It was more-- “Just a little fear of the unknown.” She shrugged, reaching out for the wing, but pulling her hand back without touching it.

Logan caught her wrist and brought her hand back to the plane. “You can touch it, Veronica.” He held her gaze, earnestness and devotion clear in the way he was looking at her. “I promise, you won’t break anything.”

She nodded, ran her fingers along the wing’s edge, the metal smooth and warm from the sun. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” she admitted quietly. She was talking about flying, sort of, but there were a lot of things she wanted to say to him, to hear from him. She just -- couldn’t yet. Too many emotions all over the place, and she wasn’t ready for definitions or rules about this _thing_ between them.

Logan watched her for a long moment, and maybe he could read her as well as she could read him, because all he said was, “I won’t let you fall.” 

Her eyes burned, and she wanted to look away, to acknowledge only the flying part of what he meant and not the rest, but he was standing there, so open and solid and supportive. So _loving_. It wasn’t a definition, but it felt a little bit like a promise. “Okay,” she managed, still working out the rest of her response when she caught the flash of disappointment he tried so hard to cover. “Logan--”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I need to finish preflight.” He turned away. “We only have two hours today.”

She stood on the flightline, too hot in her leather jacket, watching him, confident in this completely foreign context. The changes in him were so fascinating -- his body was all lean, hard angles now, while his personality had evened out around the edges, smoothed down the corners. She was still trying to catalog the differences when he finished the preflight, reappearing on what was apparently her side of the plane. 

With an exaggerated flourish, he opened the door and held it for her. “Your plane, milady.” He was over his reaction to her response, clearly, but she still felt like she should apologize. 

Instead, she narrowed her eyes playfully, “Okay, but it’s not _actually_ mine, right? You didn’t _buy_ a plane?”

He laughed, delighted, and helped her up into the leather seat. “I didn’t buy _this_ one, but if it turns out you like flying, these only run like a million--”

“Logan.” She didn’t even have a followup, just his name. 

Still grinning, he closed her door and walked around the nose of the plane, then climbed in beside her. The cockpit was smaller than she expected -- what had she expected? she knew nothing about planes -- an intimidating black wall of instruments and gauges below the windshield.

Logan settled in, adjusting his seat, and laid a small notebook across his lap. Then he laid his hand on her thigh. “In all seriousness, I’ll be pretty busy on takeoff and landing. Once we’re in the air, I’ll explain whatever you want.”

“Once we’re in the air,” she grinned at him, “I’ll let you explain whatever _you_ want.”

He rolled his eyes at her even as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “Buckle up.”

Veronica was still stupidly nervous, fumbling with the clasp on the harness until she heard the click. She sat back, eyeing the stick in front of her with some trepidation. Apparently this was the copilot seat, with full access to things she was afraid she might accidentally touch. 

Beside her, Logan was murmuring to himself, tracing his finger down the laminated page near the front of his notebook. Occasionally, he reached out to toggle a switch, or press a button, until he glanced at her and said, “Engines,” and then the plane started up.

He handed her a heavy headset, which she pulled over her ears, bending the microphone a little away from her face. The headset nearly canceled out the droning engine noise, though it squashed her ears against her skull. Logan donned a matching set, and said, “Check.” She jumped -- his voice was louder than she expected, and piped directly into her ears. He smirked. “Guess your set is working.”

“It’s working,” she answered.

He nodded, then turned back to his notebook. “Public tower, this is Piper Seneca November-six-five-eight-zero-niner. Flight time 2 hours. Fuel on board 4 hours. Two souls on board.”

She watched him, this professional pilot in his element, and wondered how many more times he would surprise her with his calm competence.

The tower responded, breaking her reverie and assigning them a runway. Logan gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. “You ready?”

“I guess so,” she answered, ignoring the fluttering in her belly. She thought maybe it was more excitement than nerves. Because Logan was a pilot and he was taking her flying, sharing this part of his grown up self with her just because he thought it might ease her mind.

“We’re taxiing,” he said, working the controls. The plane eased forward, the visible propellors spinning lazily. Which would concern her, but she knew very little about planes and Logan seemed completely unfazed.

Veronica turned her gaze to the outside as they moved, not understanding the jargon on the signs or relayed by air traffic. She felt every little bump in this plane, like they were driving a truck with iffy shocks. But now that they were moving, her nerves had all but disappeared, replaced by a bubbling excitement. She supposed that was proof enough that she trusted Logan implicitly. 

She’d already made her decision, without even realizing it. She turned to him, drinking in the sight of him like this -- contentment in his face, his expressive hands engaged with the controls, that ridiculous headset. The deep blue of his shirt was a really good color on him, and she realized she was gazing at him like a sap. Thankfully, he was too busy to notice.

As he turned the plane onto the runway and stopped, Veronica tore her attention from him, leaning forward in her seat a bit to see better. He glanced over at her as he flipped another switch. The propellors spun up, blurring from independent blades into some kind of optical illusion.

“Piper Seneca November-six-five-eight-zero-niner, this is public tower. You’re cleared for takeoff on runway three-three as conditions allow.”

This time, he kept his attention focused on the runway and the plane. “Public tower, Piper Seneca November-six-five-eight-zero-niner, departing runway three-three.” He released the brake, and the small plane started down the centerline, gaining speed steadily as he worked the controls.

Inertia pulled Veronica’s body back against the seat, and she grinned. 

“Eighty knots,” Logan announced, easing back the yoke, and then they were aloft, the plane moving smoothly and more quietly in its natural habitat. Veronica leaned against the door, pressing her forehead against the window so she could see everything at once as the ground fell away.

She didn’t even realize she was laughing.

& & &

The sky was -- impossible. 

Impossibly blue. Impossibly large. Accented by ridiculously big clouds.

Veronica was too overwhelmed with the view to come up with a proper description, but she loved everything about this. This feeling, like floating -- she looked over at Logan. He was watching her, a small smile playing about his lips. She shrugged wordlessly.

He nodded. “I know.”

She looked back out the window, her palm against the glass like a kid on a long car trip. “Where are we going?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered, and even through the slight distortion of the sound system, she recognized the pleasure in his voice. He really loved this, loved flying. “Over toward the reservoir, maybe.” 

The plane tilted, banking to the right, and Veronica focused on the tip of the wing, which seemed pinned in place while they circled around it. 

“How high are we?” she asked.

He guided the plane back to level. “Little over 5,000 feet.”

Nothing felt quite real, at this height. There were wispy, cottony clouds ahead of them, and sun-dappled land below, light brown desert with patches of green. She watched the landscape, and Logan watched her. He was keeping track of the instrumentation and whatever he needed to be doing, of course, but -- really he was studying her.

She should resent it, would normally chafe at being examined this way by anyone. But she knew Logan was trying to integrate the new and old Veronicas, trying to navigate this new/old thing between them, all while making sure she didn’t collapse from stress. So instead of warning him off with a look, she met his gaze, let him see all the things she couldn’t say yet. Because maybe she didn’t want to keep everyone at arms’ length anymore. 

Maybe she didn’t want to keep _him_ at a distance.

Veronica spotted water, ahead and off to Logan’s side of the plane. She leaned toward him to see better. “The reservoir?”

“Yup.” Logan dipped the nose ever so slightly, keeping them from slipping into the clouds that drifted above the plane. 

She watched the clouds skim past as he adjusted course, captivated by the scope of all of this when seen at altitude, and through more than a porthole-sized window on a jetliner. The clouds were enormous, ten times bigger than the foothills below.

Logan reached for her hand, lifted it to press a quick kiss on her wrist. Then he guided her hand to the stick in front of her. “No way!” Veronica jerked out of his grasp, and he laughed.

“Would you relax?” He offered his hand, waited patiently for her to acquiesce. “Just trust me.”

She met his gaze, held it for a beat. “I trust you,” she said finally, and it was true, all the way to her bones, and how had she missed that simple truth before? Distracted, she allowed him to steer her hand to the copilot’s yoke. Her fingers tightened on the hard plastic handle, her back stiffening with nerves.

“Gently,” he corrected, his free hand still on his yoke. “You can fly this thing with one finger up here.” She favored him with a _very_ skeptical look, and he grinned. “You played Strike Fighters a million times with me, remember? You can do this.”

She nodded, still a little freaked out by the idea. And unpersuaded by his argument that a _PlayStation game_ had at all prepared her to fly an actual plane. “What do I do?”

“Push forward, and we descend. Pull back, we ascend,” he explained patiently, his fingers lightly atop hers. He guided her to move the stick the tiniest bit in each direction as he talked, showing her how responsive the plane was. “Side to side is pretty intuitive, but we’re going straight.” Logan lifted his hand from hers, gesturing toward the reservoir ahead of them. “She wants to keep flying, so just keep her steady.” 

Veronica smiled at the genuine affection he had for the plane. “She does, huh?”

Logan shifted slightly, turning toward her just a bit. When she glanced over, he smiled and said, “Your plane.” Her gaze flew to his hands, folded neatly against the notebook in his lap. Eyes wide, she looked back at him. “Yup,” he said. “You’re flying.”

“I’m flying?” she repeated, in a higher pitch than normal. She stared at him and exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

Laughing, Logan raised his eyebrows and said, “You should probably keep your eyes on the road.”

& & &

The rest of their time flying time was light -- sunshine and floating and jokes, and by the time Logan shifted all his attention to landing the plane, Veronica felt about thirty-eight times better than she had at takeoff.

It made no sense -- nothing had changed. Her dad was still injured, still in pain, still facing an uphill battle to get back on his feet. Veronica still had a funeral to attend in the morning for Deputy Sacks. She had no formal job, no place to live other than her father’s spare room, and no way to pay her crushing amount of law school debt.

But she still felt... _better_ , somehow. More herself. More settled, more certain.

Particularly about the man who’d brought her here. She watched him, his gaze shifting from the runway to the instruments, adjusting smoothly. He didn’t spare her a glance, but she knew from the quirk of his mouth that he could feel her attention.

Good, then, because turnabout was definitely fair play.

But she stayed quiet, kept her quips to herself until he had the plane safely on the ground with a quick bounce. They slowed, and Logan turned the plane onto a taxiway, exchanging information with the tower as he headed back toward the hangar. 

When he eased the plane to a stop, he finally looked over at her, an affectionate grin on his face. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned into him before he could protest, kissing him with all the emotion she’d been holding in. His hand came up to her face, bumping against the headset, and he laughed against her mouth.

One more kiss, and then she retreated to her side of the cockpit. 

“So, you liked it.” He smirked at her.

Normally, she would mock him for his smugness, but he _had_ been right about this. “I _loved_ it,” she answered.

“Good.” Logan snapped his notebook shut, then turned back to the instrument panel, working quickly through a bunch of switches and knobs and buttons until the engines were off.

Veronica pulled the headset off. The sudden silence felt heavy, but she didn’t let herself get dragged back down. She rubbed at her ear a little bit.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Just used to ear buds,” she answered. “not these… giant retro things.”

“We’ll have to get you some Beats by Dre. Earbuds can’t carry the bass.”

Veronica snickered. “Okay, Kanye.”

“People do often confuse us, me and Kanye.” Logan popped his door open and unfolded himself from the cockpit. “Wait, wait,” he protested when she opened her door. “I’ll help.”

She rolled her eyes, but let him hold her hand while she jumped down. The moment her feet were on the ground, he bent to her, kissing along her jaw and playfully backing her into the fuselage. “Thanks for flying with me,” he said as he moved to step away.

But she held him in place, her fingers tangling together at the back of his neck. “Really, Logan. Thank _you_ for this. It was…” She shook her head, still not quite able to verbalize all of this. “I don’t understand how you still know exactly what I need, but you--” She stopped, reading the longing in his expression, trying to give him whatever it was he wanted from her. 

Veronica took a breath, steadied herself. “ _You_ are exactly what I need,” she said, her voice low but strong. 

The happiness crashing across his face -- he knew what she was trying to convey. “God, Veronica,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “This is still pretty surreal sometimes.”

“I know.”

He smiled down at her. “But in a compelling, Salvador Dali’s melt-y clocks kind of way.”

She laughed, leaned into his body for a hug. “And you know how us girls love being compared to Dali’s melt-y clocks.”

“He painted some pretty disturbing shit, but the melt-y clocks are cool,” Logan pointed out. “Which is kind of missing the part where I compared you to an acclaimed work of art.”

“Nice recovery, though technically you compared _us_ to an acclaimed work of art.” 

Logan pretended to consider her point. “The unusualness of our situation, yes.”

Of course, things the past few days had been quite unusual, to put it mildly. And not all of them in the aforementioned cool, melt-y clock way. Veronica shivered a bit. “The scary stuff, my dad,” she said, her voice low, “that’s kind of surreal, too.” 

His arms tightened almost imperceptibly, his hands splayed against her back.

Veronica shook herself out of the darker thoughts, leaned up to kiss him quickly. “I realize this is kind of insane.” 

Logan choked out a laugh. “Good insane, though. Right?” 

“Right,” she agreed, hoping he would understand. “But I know you leave soon, and I know I just got back, and there’s a _lot_ going on, but this isn’t…” She trailed off, struggling for words as he watched her carefully. “It’s not just temporary. For me,” she added, because she didn’t want to assume anything.

But Logan nodded down at her, his eyes sparkling. “For me, either.”

She smiled, feeling tears threatening -- God, _again_ \-- but good tears this time. Overwhelmed-by-this-man tears. “It’s never been temporary with you,” she added. It was a risk, and it was as close as she could come to the words he needed, the words he’d always needed from her.

If his sudden kiss was anything to go by, she’d given him enough. He lifted her, and was so distracted that he nearly bumped them both right into the wing. She snickered and leaned back, wriggling a little until he placed her carefully back on her feet. “Easy, Salvador, I’m going to need you fully functional when we get back to Neptune.”

“Okay,” he said, “Yeezus I’ll accept, but _that’s_ not a nickname that will be happening.” He released her, but immediately took her hand and headed for the small rental office. She stayed close to him, feeling so much calmer than she had in days, so grounded.

Once they were outside the office and headed for the car, Veronica picked up the conversation, “So I agree -- Salvador has too many syllables to be an effective nickname.” She nodded as if she were taking the topic quite seriously. “Maybe just Sali would work.”

“Sure am curious how you’re planning to get yourself back to Neptune,” he answered, feigning indifference.

“Please,” Veronica scoffed. “I could hotwire any car in this…” She trailed off, because there _were_ no other cars in the lot at the moment. “Dammit.”

Logan snickered, and his smug amusement was too much. She leaned closer to him, wrapping an arm low around his waist as they walked. It had been years, but as it turned out, her pickpocketing skills were still pretty decent. Veronica pushed away from him and held his keys aloft. “I have options.”

That exasperated look on his face hadn’t changed much in their years apart, so Veronica took off for the car, already snickering in expectation. She only made it three steps before his arms wrapped around her midsection, slowing her attempted escape. Veronica couldn’t stop laughing as she tried to keep the keys out of his reach, but his arms were just freakishly long.

It was no competition, really, and then he spun her around, and they stood there in the parking lot of the tiny regional airport and smiled stupidly at each other. She was still breathing hard, feeling strangely exhilarated when Logan leaned his forehead down to rest against hers. “Hey, Veronica?”

Surprised by the sudden seriousness of his tone, she said, “Yeah?”

He didn’t answer immediately, drawing his fingers down her arms to tangle their hands together as he straightened. He stared at their joined hands for a moment, then looked directly into her eyes. “It’ll _never_ be temporary with you.” He held her gaze, lifting his eyebrows as if questioning whether she understood.

Veronica beamed up at him and nodded, pulling him down for a kiss. 

When they broke apart, she gave him a little smirk and pulled out of his arms, headed for the driver’s side. She tossed his pilfered keys in the air. “Let’s go, Sali.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES: Epigram and title are lyrics from Gregory Alan Isakov’s [All Shades of Blue](http://gregoryalanisakov.com/music/all-shades-of-blue). 
> 
> Pain scale reference is to Hyperbole & a Half’s amazing cartoon, [Boyfriend Doesn’t Have Ebola. Probably.](http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/02/boyfriend-doesnt-have-ebola-probably.html)
> 
> Special thanks to all the privately licensed pilots who bought GoPros and added a ton of flight videos onto YouTube, because hell if anyone could get me in one of those tiny planes. ;)


End file.
